A Day of Rest
“Rest and be thankful.” ~ William Wordsworth
The morning after hiking Haystack Mountain, I woke with an agenda for Sunday. The sun was shining, a beautiful breeze blowing, and I decided a walk up the road for my coffee was a great idea.
Though the morning was cool, the sun felt very hot; I was glad I left the hoodie at home. Along the way, I took in the sky, the mountains, and wildflower meadows dancing with butterflies (none of whom stayed still enough for a good photo). I saw only a handful of other people until I got to the 7-11. The most unusual thing I stumbled across was the remains of a wedding reception in the middle of the path: a white rental folding chair loaded with plates of cheese, fruit, and crackers, and a couple of empty glasses.
I picked up my coffee, chatting with the clerk, then headed home. A family played in the park now. The butterflies still danced and eluded, though their numbers seemed double. Following this hot, flat walk of only a mile or so, upon returning to the apartment, my body said in no uncertain terms, “Rest.” So I did.
It was a lovely, quiet day. Write. Eat. Nap. Repeat. (I also did a little research into haunted Vermont, mapping a hike through the Bennington Triangle, so watch this space.) Late in the afternoon, I reached out to a nearby friend and he suggested dinner with the family. I met the three of them at the Saloon (only a thirty-second walk away and officially the Valley View Saloon, but I’ve never heard it called that). I had a delicious meal (the portions are gigantic), good beer, and great conversation -- the usual catching up among old friends, sprinkled with talk about area wildlife (coydogs, moose, and especially bears).
After we said good night, I went home to digest my huge supper, watch the sunset, listen to the river, and chat with my partner in New Jersey. I felt rested. And thankful. And blessed.